Musically Inclined
by TurtlebugBirdy
Summary: "Eponine's heart continues to pound in her chest when she steps out of the shadows and into the spotlight of the ABC café, where everyone's eyes are trained on her, following her every move." My first fanfic. Oneshot. R&R please!


**Hello - this is my first fic. I don't own Eponine or Musichetta or the ABC cafe, sadly :( **

**Nonetheless, a review would be much appreciated - thanks.**

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Eponine watches smoke curl away from the tip of her cigarette. She sighs, taking it between her fingers before she places it gingerly between her lips, inhaling in the smoke before breathing out slowly. Smoking has always comforted Isadora; it has never failed to provide tranquility before an incoming storm. She knows it is no good for her, but she cannot help but feel incomplete each day without a short puff.

She's performing today, too – her first gig since she moved towns – so she has no valid excuse for ruining her lungs a little bit more, and her brain quickly yells at her for making stupid decisions.

Defeated, she stabs the butt of her cigarette into a cheap, corroded ashtray placed conveniently by her dressing table, its surface crowded with holes of various sizes and shapes; you would not be able to tell that it was once bright orange and smooth from its current demeanor. Eponine glances up towards her reflection on her equally marred mirror, making sure that her appearance is at least a little bit better than her usually mediocre-looking façade.

She ends up almost disappointed when her hair is still ratty and matte, and that her nose still has that outrageously large pimple on it, and that you could still see her scar peeking by her collarbone. She doesn't cry, unlike most of the girls she knows from school absorbed with vanity and, ultimately, themselves – there is no point in doing so when you're used to being ugly.

Despite this, Eponine braids her long hair as a final attempt to seem at least somewhat pretty. She looks back up at her broken reflection; her pimple and scar are still there, but at least her hair is a little bit tamer this time around.

She smiles: any improvement is better than no improvement at all.

Musichetta, the café's owner, pops through the curtain separating Eponine from the crowd outside. "Get ready – you're up in a minute," she clears her throat. "Good luck, Eponine."

Eponine only nods in response before grabbing her guitar - the only present from her estranged father from a time in which he loved her – and taking a deep breath. Her fingers are buzzing with electricity; for the first time in a year, Isadora finally feels awake and _alive_ at the prospect of finally doing something she loves without anyone stopping her or calling her insane

Before stepping outside, she imagines that one day, she will have adoring fans ready to throw themselves at her, screaming her name over and over again until it sounds like nothing in particular. And whilst that thought, she realises, is somewhat far-fetched, it makes her heart pump faster at the possible prospect of that occurring in the future.

Eponine's heart continues to pound in her chest when she steps out of the shadows and into the spotlight of the ABC café, where everyone's eyes are trained on her, following her every move. Through her peripheral vision, she sees Musichetta purse her lips as if she's wondering what Eponine will sound like tonight. Sure, she's heard her sing before, but that was in different circumstances - they were behind closed doors for her audition with no one else watching her.

She sees Musichetta raises an eyebrow to her, silently questioning why she hasn't started singing yet.

_"Screw it." _Eponine thinks, taking one last shaky breath before she begins to softly strum her guitar and sing. Suddenly, her nervousness dissipates as she loses herself in her song – a song she composed herself – singing her heart out, not caring what anyone thinks of her at this point. Eponine pretends that it is just her in the café, and that no one is staring, and that Musichetta isn't keeping her eyes trained on her, and that –

Eponine's thoughts are interrupted with an intense round of applause from the audience; she just finished singing her first song. Her heart swells with pride and her eyes well up with tears - she cannot believe that they actually enjoyed her performance.

She can only croak out a small "thank you" in return before she continues.

By the end of the night, Eponine is in happy shambles. She leaves, her head held high and excited for the following week before it has even begun.

She doesn't even smoke the next day.


End file.
